The Way To Greatness
by evidently-frozen
Summary: Harry Potter, one of the newest additions to Slytherin House, is a week away from beginning his second year at Hogwarts. However, since an incident with underage magic three weeks ago, nobody has seen or heard from him. His friends expect the worst...
1. Draco

The summer was coming to a close but Draco Mafloy was in no fit state to call it quits just yet. Being the upstanding gentleman that he was, he'd made sure to keep in regular correspondence with his fellow Slytherins over the holidays. Almost everyone (even the barely literate Goyle) had dignified him with a response. The only one who had disappointed him so far was Harry Potter.

At first Draco was angry. Who did Potter think he was? Did he think he was too good to bother writing back? Draco was somewhat disappointed. He and Potter mightn't have been the best of friends, but he liked to think they'd come to a sort of _understanding _last year. It was most unlike Potter to act like this. Of course, that didn't stop Draco from firing off a few more owls telling Potter how much of a prat he was. However, when those yielded no response, Draco's displeasure turned slowly to concern. Either Potter would not respond or he _could not_ respond. As the days turned into weeks, he was beginning to suspect the latter.

Today, Draco's suspicions were confirmed by a visit from Theodore Nott. Theodore (Teddy for short) was one of his and Potter's fellow Slytherins. He was a closer friend of Potter's then Draco was and, therefore, was far more likely to have gotten some sort of response out of him. Yet, as Draco quickly discovered, Nott hadn't had any luck either.

"It makes me sick," Draco spat as they strolled, aimlessly, through the beautiful gardens of Malfoy manor. "Potter living with those muggles. Someone should really do something about it!"

"I must have sent him about five owls," Teddy replied softly. "Do you really think they're withholding Harry's mail?"

"Of course they are," Draco said impatiently. "You heard how Potter used to talk about them. And remember the way he looked at the start of last term? They barely even feed him over there."

"I wonder if they've even taken him to Diagon Alley either?" Teddy mused. "Term starts next week. Harry better be ready for that."

"That's just it. Nott," Draco said with a slight hiss. "What if those muggles aren't letting him come back? What if they're trying to keep him trapped in the muggle world?"

The two young Slytherins fell silent, the full effect of Draco's words washing over them. They had both been brought up with anti-muggle sentiments, but for the first time, the two boys truly understood why. Draco was the first to break the silence.

"I'm going to talk to father. Maybe he can get Potter out of this mess."

"What will he do? Curse them?" Teddy asked hopefully.

"He'll do something," Draco retorted proudly. "You know how much sway father has with the ministry. And he's on the board of governors. If anyone can help Potter, it's him."

"Right," Teddy replied, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

Teddy left shortly before dinner, leaving Draco to make a half-hearted stab at his charms homework. He couldn't concentrate. For the first time in his life, he felt as if he was witnessing true injustice. He chewed, viciously, on the end of his quill, eyes drifting from the barely formulated essay and over to the window, overlooking the gardens. He took so many things for granted. Why was he surrounded by such wealth and comfort while Potter was left to suffer under the whims of common muggles? It was an outrage. And, like all outrages, it was nothing his father couldn't put right!

"Dobby! The wine!" Narcissa Malfoy ordered from her end of the lavish dining table. Opposite her, her husband, Lucius, sat comfortably. There was a regal look about him as his grey eyes swept over the banquet their house elf had prepared for them. Draco was seated across from them, in the middle, looking especially fidgety and glancing, every so often, in his father's direction.

"Something on your mind. Draco?" Lucius asked, meeting his son's eyes at last.

"Yes," Draco answered, choosing his words carefully. "Do you remember how I told you that Harry Potter has to live with muggles over the summer?"

"Oh the poor boy," Narcissa sighed. "How dreadful for him."

"Yes quite," Lucius agreed, smirking slightly. "What of it Draco?"

"Well… I'm getting a bit _concerned. _He hasn't responded to any of my owls and Theodore told me, earlier today, that Potter hasn't written back to him either."

"Most irregular," Lucius agreed. "Harry Potter is a friend of yours is he not?"

"Yes," Draco replied. "We're starting to think the muggles might be intercepting his owls."

"My dear Draco. Do you really think mere muggle's are capable of doing that?" Lucius chortled. "Highly unlikely."

"Well something's going on," Draco said with a hint of impatience. "And Potter has told us things about those muggles. They don't feed him very well and they're quite nasty to him. I think they're up to something."

"Draco may be right. Lucius," Narcissa said softly, holding out her glass absent-mindedly for Dobby the house-elf to refill. "You've heard nothing from Potter these holidays?"

"Nothing at all," Draco answered. "And term starts next week. What if they're trying to keep Potter from going back? He told us last year that they didn't want him coming to Hogwarts in the first place."

"Interesting…" Lucius murmured. "I will look into it. Draco. But, for now, lets have no more talk of muggles at the dinner table. It's not especially _appetizing_."

Draco didn't have to wait long before his father had found out a few choice details about the Potter situation. He had pulled a few strings at the ministry and around Diagon Alley. Lucius was quickly able to determine that Potter had not been seen purchasing any of his school equipment (and shopkeepers seldom failed to remember Harry Potter). A quick apparation to Potter's house in Little Whining also revealed even more startling news. One of the bedrooms seemed to have bars on its window.

"It was all I could do not to go in there and teach those muggles some respect," Lucius said with a slight sneer. "They really are out of their depth trying to hold a wizard captive."

"What are you going to do?" Draco asked, still outraged.

"I have already sent them an anonymous letter telling them it's not in their best interest to keep Potter out of Hogwarts," Lucius replied with a smirk. "I made it clear that there will be consequences should they fail to comply_._"

"What about his books and things?" Draco asked.

"I've taken the liberty purchasing them for him," Lucius replied smugly. "It seemed unlikely that Potter will be able to get to Diagon Alley."

"And what if the muggles don't listen?"

"Come now Draco! Do you really think a few muggles can stop Harry Potter from returning to Hogwarts?"

"No," Draco admitted. "But I can't believe they'd try!"

"Muggles are foolish and barbaric creatures," Lucius sighed. "They have tried, for years, to control witches and wizards. But, in the end, they must all learn to submit to their betters. Even Dumbledore, the great muggle-loving fool, will have no choice but to act if these muggles keep Potter from attending Hogwarts. We can only hope Potter doesn't do anything rash in the meantime. Not after the last incident."

"What incident?" Draco asked quickly, eyes narrowing.

"I found out, today, that Potter received a warning from the ministry for using underaged magic. It happened about three weeks ago. Rather foolish of him."

"Yes," Draco agreed, smirking to himself. "I didn't think Potter would be that stupid."

"Well, at any rate, he seems to have learned his lesson," Lucius went on. "He hasn't done anything else since then. It shouldn't be too difficult for the boy to make it through another week."

Draco was so immersed in the story of Potter's miserable summer that he couldn't help but write to all the Slytherin's in their year to regale them with the tale. He even wrote to Goyle, who would probably only get the gist of it. Draco was sure to mention the fact that his father had the situation well in hand and that the muggles were as good as dead if they didn't do as they were told. Draco also stressed that _he_ was the first one to realize that there was something funny going on (_well I am a Malfoy after all!) _

Draco slept soundly that night. His last thoughts were of all the letters he'd sent Potter. Some of them had been quite nasty. Hopefully the muggles had disposed of them. He had no way of knowing that those very letters were in closer then he could ever imagine. Dobby the house elf had made sure that.


	2. Petunia

"It's been three weeks Vernon," Petunia said tentatively. "And with those bars on his windows! What will the neighbours say?"  
>"Don't worry about it," Vernon said dismissively. "There's no law against putting bars on windows. We can always say it's for his own protection. Stops him trying to jump out and do himself in."<br>"I just don't want any of _them_ finding out about it," Petunia said in hurried whisper. "If he doesn't make it back to school…"  
>"I won't have it. Petunia!" Vernon growled. "Not in this house. I won't be bullied by a bunch of-"<p>

Vernon paused in mid-rant, his eyes widening in alarm as if he had been just about to say a particularly nasty curse word. He closed his mouth, defiantly, and plucked the newspaper from the kitchen counter, leaving without another word. Petunia watched her husband walk away, looking quite crestfallen.

Vernon Dursley might not have fully appreciated the gravity of the situation, but Petunia did. Their nephew wasn't a normal boy, even by '_their'_ standards. He was famous! He was Harry Potter – the boy who lived. Petunia couldn't help but imagine how much simpler her life might be if the boy hadn't lived at all. These bitter thoughts ran through Petunia's mind as she shuffled around her spotless kitchen, checking on the ham in the oven and pouring yet another can of soup into a bowl. They certainly were getting through them. Three a day, every day! Still, it was the cheapest way to feed the boy.  
><em><br>__"It's all your fault. Lily! Why did you have to get yourself blown up and leave me to pick up the pieces? He's your son not mine! It's not like I ever had the first clue how to-"_

And it hit her like a freight train. Petunia fought her hardest, but she couldn't stop the tears that were welling up in her eyes. It had been almost twelve years since her sister had died. She remembered the night she'd heard about her sister's murder. She hadn't cried then, but every now and then she seemed to 'forget herself.'

She dried her eyes on a dainty white handkerchief, thinking of Vernon and what he might say if he came back into the kitchen. She couldn't let herself think about that. It was over! Lily was dead and her blasted son would be out of their house in a few years. God knows he wouldn't darken their doorstep again after the way they'd treated him. They'd made sure to burn all bridges preemptively.

Picking up the bowl of cold soup, she made her way up the stairs. Her hands were shaking a little, barely managing to keep the soup from spilling all over the floor. She couldn't pretend she thought locking their nephew up in his room for the rest of his adolescence was going to work. All it took was for one nosey neighbour to call child protective services. And that was if _his lot_didn't come and get him first.

She approached the door to the smallest bedroom in the house, which was secured by about half a dozen locks. The catflap was the only way anything could get in or out. The boy was allowed to use the bathroom twice a day, but other then that he was locked in at all times. His snowy owl was in there with him. It was difficult to say whether or not the blasted thing could survive on whatever soup the boy was prepared to share with it. It didn't concern Petunia, or Vernon, in the least. The bird had been nothing but trouble and the sooner it 'went away' the better.

Petunia shoved the bowl of soup through the catflap carelessly, no doubt spilling some of it in the process. She heard a scramble from inside the room and the bowl had been picked up before she'd even snapped the flap shut. The boy was starving. Petunia could tell. Her son, Dudley, consumed more in one meal then the boy did in a week. But Dudley was _her_son!

Marching back down the stairs, Petunia couldn't help but wonder how this was going to turn out. She really should talk to Vernon again. They really couldn't keep this up. Someone would eventually find out and they could get into serious trouble. Nonetheless, she couldn't pretend she disagreed with Vernon in principal. If the boy was confined to his room, it was so much easier to pretend he didn't exist. They didn't have to see him, hear his voice or wonder where he was. And those _eyes_… Petunia didn't have to look into those brilliant green eyes. Every time she locked eyes with her nephew (which wasn't often) she felt as if Lily was in the room. It was cause for discomfort and certainly not the kind of thing she wanted to be thinking about.

"Mum I'm home! Where's dinner!" Dudley's voice boomed from the hallway.  
>"Dinner?" Vernon's voice also boomed, even louder, from the living room. There was the pounding of heavy footsteps as Vernon and Dudley both made their way into the kitchen. Petunia was already back in the kitchen, having already pulled the large ham out of the oven. Dudley gazed at it, greedily while Vernon went into the fridge for another larger.<p>

"Looks delicious. Dear," he remarked as he cracked open the can and took a generous gulp. "Nothing like a good bit of ham on a Sunday. Eh Dudley?"  
>"Only a week to go until you go back to Smeltings, sweetums," Petunia cooed as she handed Vernon the best carving knife. "I can't send my Diddykins off without feeding him up a bit more."<p>

Dudley, by all accounts, got more then his fair share at Smeltings, but Petunia was still mistrustful. She didn't want Dudley undernourished, least he turn out like the boy upstairs.

"Come here Dudley my boy," Vernon said merrily, setting his larger down on the bench and approaching the ham with the knife in hand. "Let me show you how to carve a ham."

Needless to say, Dudley's ham-carving abilities left a lot to be desired. Vernon took over shortly after Dudley gave up carving and concentrated on eating the few pieces tattered pieces he had managed to carve. Vernon chuckled, patting the boy on the back and remarking on his 'healthy appetite.' Petunia just smiled and saw to the vegetables (which Dudley wouldn't touch and Vernon only would reluctantly). It was good to see them so happy. If only it could be this way all the time. Maybe it was for the best that the boy was locked up in his room…

_"You let those freaks destroy your family. Lily. I won't let them destroy mine!"_

"MUM!" Dudley cried through a mouthful of ham. Petunia looked up and gasped. It was an owl! The pest had swooped right through the open window (which Petunia was sure had been closed a few moments ago). A look of terror crossed her face as Vernon started yelling and shooing the bird out.

"Go on! Shoo! Ruddy bird! Dudley go open the front."

The hawk-like owl continued to fly around the room, darting in Petuina's direction. She shrieked and ducked for cover under the kitchen counter. Just as she did so, a letter was dropped right on top of her. And, in two seconds flat, the owl had darted out the same window it had come through, which Vernon quickly slammed shut.

"Outrageous! Who do they think they-"

Vernon paused, staring at the letter in Petunia's hand as if it might explode. He turned to Dudley.

"Go into the living room. Dudley," he ordered. Dudley followed his father's glance towards the letter in his mother's hand and shook his head.  
>"I want to know what it says!"<br>"OUT!" Vernon growled.  
>"I want to know what it-"<br>"GET OUT OR THERE'LL BE NO MORE HAM FOR YOU!"

The prospect of not getting more then his fair share of ham seemed to outweigh his desire to see what the letter said. He left, reluctantly, and only then did Petunia open the letter. Vernon peering over her shoulder as she read:

_To whom it may concern_

_If Harry Potter does not board the Hogwarts Express at King's Cross on the 1st of September, there will be dire consequences for you and your family._

_You have been warned._

Petunia started shaking so hard it looked as if she'd tear the letter in two. Vernon saved her the trouble, snatching up the letter and tearing it to shreds viciously.

"Threats!" he barked. "Who do they think they are? We can send that boy wherever we damn well please!"  
>"Vernon. We have to do what they say," Petunia said shakily. "There's no telling what they'll do if we don't."<br>"Ah Petunia," Vernon said, an uncharacteristically sly smile crossing his face. "You just wait. That boy's going to crack any minute. Don't you see? Soon he'll use his er… _abnormalities_ to get out of that room. And, when he does, they'll expel him! You remember what that other ruddy letter said?"  
>"But what if he doesn't try and escape?" Petunia asked. "What if he's waiting for them to come and get him?"<br>"Hmmm," Vernon murmured, a wicked look in his eyes. "What if we stopped feeding him?"  
>"Stopped-?"<br>"Think about it Petunia! He's already starving. The little sod has been living off soup for three weeks. If we stop feeding him all together, he'll crack within a day."  
>"I don't know about this Vernon. I don't like the little beast any more then you. But not feeding him altogether. He already looks terrible…"<br>"Oh it'll only be for a day or two. Just to push him over the edge," Vernon reassured his wife. "After that we'll give him a decent ruddy meal and be done with the whole business. He'll be expelled and we'll never have to hear from them again."

Petunia froze, knowing this might just be the only way to finally sever ties, permanently, with the wizarding world she so hated. But could she do it? Could she let a twelve-year-old boy starve, even if it was Harry?

"Alright Vernon," Petunia sighed. "But only for a few days. God knows they'd lock us up and throw away the key if word of this got out."  
>"A few days is more the enough time. You just wait."<br>"And you still have to let him use the bathroom," Petunia said, glaring at Vernon as if daring him to object. Vernon opened his mouth to do so, but knew it would be going a bit far to expect his wife to put up with the boy soiling the floor of his room.

"Fine," Vernon grunted, checking his watch. "It's about time I go up there anyway."

And with that, Vernon made for the stairs, leaving Petunia to watch and worry. Could they really do it? Could they really take Harry Potter – the boy who lived, out of the wizarding world for good.


	3. Harry

Harry Potter had experienced instances of extreme cruelty before at the hands of the Dursleys, but he had to admit this took things to a whole new level. To lock him up in his room like a prisoner was bad enough, but to stop feeding him was bordering on utter insanity.

Although he hated them, deep down Harry had always hoped that his aunt and uncle had some shred of decency. But three weeks of cold soup and two days of nothing had all had dashed such hopes. Harry had no illusions now. They were evil! Pure evil! And, if he didn't get out of here soon, he was going to die.

Hedwig hooted, feebly, barely keeping herself upright on her perch. Harry looked at her helplessly. This lack of food was taking it's toll on him, but it was even harder on Hedwig. Why hadn't he stocked up on owl treats? He approached the cage, locking eyes with the only real friend he had in this ordeal. She stared at him, looking weak and weary. It was such a sad sight.

"Hang in there," Harry whispered. "Just a little longer Hedwig. Then we'll get out of here and _never_ come back."

Why had Dobby done this to him? The house elf had told him he would be in great danger if he returned to Hogwarts. But, to be quite honest, Harry doubted many things could be worse then this. Surely dying of starvation was a slower and more painful death then anything that might kill him at Hogwarts. And, at least back at the castle, he'd be happy. He'd be amongst friends, learning interesting magic and enjoying feasts in the great hall. He snapped himself out of the daydream. _Don't think about food!_

Harry didn't have the energy to think, but he knew that if he got out of this alive, he would do everything in his power never to set foot in this house again. They were trying to kill him! He was sure of it. And, like all good Slytherins, Harry wasn't about to make it easy for them. He had to be cunning and resourceful to survive this ordeal. Luckily, he had a plan.

Uncle Vernon brought him out of the room, twice a day, to use the bathroom. That was the only opportunity he had left to escape. The plan wasn't complicated. He'd simply make a break for it. He knew that he could run much faster then Uncle Vernon. All he needed to do was put an arms length worth of distance between them and hope Dudley or Aunt Petunia didn't get in his way.

"Stand away from the door boy!" Uncle Vernon voice growled from the outside, followed by the sound of various locks being turned. Harry stood in the middle of the room, eyes darting towards the doorway as it opened, revealing Uncle Vernon's mad purple face.

"Come on!" Uncle Vernon growled, avoiding Harry's eyes. Harry wondered whether the sight of his malnourished and deteriorating nephew disturbed him. He had lost a lot of weight and Dudley's already baggy hand-me-downs were practically falling off him.

Harry stepped outside and made his way to the bathroom. Uncle Vernon followed him closely. Too closely! Harry's eyes darted towards the stairs. Did he have a chance? He didn't care! He couldn't take anymore. In one, desperate movement, he bounded for the stairs. He didn't' get far.

"OH NO YOU DON'T!" Uncle Vernon roared, grabbing him by the shoulder in a vicelike grip. "You're not going anywhere boy!"

Harry struggled, uselessly, against his uncle. Even if he had his full strength, he knew he'd never overpower him. He felt utterly defeated and tears started streaming down his cheeks.

"LET ME GO!" Harry bellowed. "I SAID LET ME GO!"

"SHUT UP!" Vernon yelled, practically throwing Harry into the bathroom. "I don't want another peep out of you."

"You can't do this," Harry pleaded, abandoning whatever dignity he had left. "I'm going to die! I need to eat! Please just give me something! Anything! Please!"

Uncle Vernon froze, looking notably disturbed. Harry knew he wasn't exactly an exemplary human being, but he'd wager this was the cruelest thing the man had ever done. To starve a twelve-year-old required a degree of sadism that few men were capable of.

"I will allow you a bowl of soup," Uncle Vernon said slowly. "But any more of this nonsense and you get nothing. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Harry replied, glumly, knowing it was the best he could hope for. He shut the bathroom door and stepped over to the mirror. He hadn't needed to go, but any excuse to get out of his room was greatly appreciated. He gazed at his reflection, noting how terrible he looked. He'd never seen himself so pale and thin. His eyes had a glazed look about them and he felt light-headed. He splashed some cold water on his face and stared down his reflection.

"I'm not going to die," he told himself sternly, putting as much conviction as he could into his voice. He needed to get a hold of himself. He had to take control. He couldn't rely on the limited sympathies of his aunt and uncle. He'd probably just used up the last of Uncle Vernon's only moments ago.

Stepping out of the bathroom, he immediately found Uncle Vernon, clicking his tongue impatiently and gesturing towards his room. Harry did not resist, knowing he might put his bowl of soup in jeopardy if he did so. He was far too hungry to think about anything else right now. He stepped back into his room and Uncle Vernon slammed shut the door, locking him in and marching down the stairs without a word (although Harry could have sworn he was muttering to himself).

Harry sat down upon the bed, feeling his strength failing. His shoulder still throbbed where Uncle Vernon had grabbed it and he was trembling uncontrollably. He couldn't pretend he wasn't scared. Scared of what was going to happen to him, scared that nobody would come before it was too late and scared that Uncle Vernon would forget about the soup he promised him. They were the kinds of fears no normal twelve-year-old would ever have to deal with. But Harry knew he wasn't normal. Even by wizarding standards, he was different.

"Maybe this is how it's supposed to end. Hedwig," Harry yawned, laying down on the bed. He didn't know if he'd ever find the strength to get back up again, but he didn't care. His body was failing him and he was just about ready to give in.

"I should sleep," Harry muttered, eyes closing. "Save my strength… Might be able to…"

And in an instant, Harry was asleep. His last thoughts were of waking up. Would he be able to do it?

_"You're not going to die. Harry,"_ a soft voice whispered in his head.

"I'm not going… to die," Harry repeated drowsily.

_"The muggles will pay."_

"They'll pay…" Harry yawned, head lolling back.

_"They all will for leaving you here,"_ the voice persisted.

"It's not fair," Harry grumbled in his sleep, struggling feebly against his sheets.

_"No. It's not. But you and I both know that life isn't fair."_

"I'll make it fair," Harry growled, rolling over on his side. "I'll make it…"

His eyes burst open in utter horror. Who had he just been talking to? And why was his scar burning? He sat bolt upright in the bed, new energy flowing through him as he looked around his bleak little bedroom. Hedwig was resting in her cage, but nobody else was there.

His scar was still throbbing, the burning sensation cooling by degrees. He must be going crazy? It must be the lack of food. He should have known he'd eventually be hearing voices. He sat perfectly still, focusing on the pain. He didn't quite know what he was trying to do, but he felt [i]something[/i]. A strange feeling, as if his own mind was invisibly tethered to something. He could almost hear a voice; a distant echo. He strained his ears to make sense of it,

He almost jumped when Aunt Petunia's bony hand reached in through the door with a bowl of cold soup. Harry leapt out of the bed and rushed over to it, not even moving the bowl off he floor. He slurped up the soup with indecent enthusiasm, not even stopping to think about how awful it tasted or how little it was satisfying his hunger. It was with great restraint that he saved some for Hedwig, who was glancing from him, and the soup, looking quite miserable.

_"Hunger… A pathetic human weakness…"_ Harry thought, frowning for a moment. It wasn't like him to think like that, but it certainly had a nice ring to in. If being human meant starving, perhaps it wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

Like him, Hedwig was far too hungry to turn down the soup. Still, it couldn't have been good for her. Harry was sure the Dursleys were hoping to starve the owl to death as well. How could they? Such cruelty couldn't go unpunished. Harry felt a rage, unlike any other, bubbling within him. How could he be related to such repulsive, twisted, evil, disgusting people. This had to be the last strew. He'd spent his entire life suffering under their abuse, their mistreatment and their neglect? How could he help but be haunted by visions of Dudley's gang chasing him around, Uncle Vernon locking him in the cupboard under the stairs and Aunt Marge's bulldog chasing him up a tree. And then their was Aunt Petunia. His mother's sister! The only one he was related to by blood. Harry could have live with being bullied by Dudley, Uncle Vernon and even Aunt Marge; but Aunt Petunia was the only real family he had left. Had she really been his mother's sister? Was his mother anything like her? Harry wanted to say no, but sometimes he wondered. They were sisters after all…

Harry tried to shake these dark thoughts out of his head. How could he say that? By all accounts, Lily Potter had been a kind and courageous woman. And, if Petunia hated her, she must have been her polar opposite. Harry felt furious with himself for even entertaining the idea that his mother could be anything like his aunt. How ungrateful of him. This was the woman who'd given her life to protect him from Voldemort. As if Aunt Petunia would do that same.

Harry jumped, in surprise, when he heard the familiar sound of his door being unlocked from the outside. What was it now? They'd already fed him and taken him to the bathroom. Surely they were safe to pretend he didn't exist until tomorrow morning. What could they want?

Uncle Vernon poked his head through the door, looking unusually distressed even for him Harry raised his eyebrows and his heart leapt. Anything that made Uncle Vernon distressed must be good news for him.

"One of _your lot_ is downstairs," his uncle spoke through clenched teeth. "He wants a word with you. He claims to be from your _school_." Uncle Vernon spat the last word reluctantly, as if he believed 'circus' or 'freak show' might have been a better term.

Harry didn't need to hear another word. He sprang to his feet and hurried to the door, but Uncle Vernon didn't move. He jabbed a fat finger into Harry's chest, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"You will not go into specific detail about your _punishment,_" He warned. "You will simply tell him that you have been confined to your room for your disgraceful behaviour at the diner three weeks ago."

"Meaning I shouldn't mention that I'm starving to death?" Harry shot back.

"You mention that and there'll be hell to pay boy," Vernon snarled. "In fact, I think I'll tell him that you're asleep…"

"No!" Harry yelped. "I mean, no that's fine. I won't tell him anything."

Uncle Vernon gave him a long hard look. Harry could tell he didn't have a lot of choice in the matter. Whoever was downstairs no doubt had him rattled. Harry couldn't have been happier. This had to be it! He was being saved!

He followed Uncle Vernon downstairs, barely able to suppress a grin. It didn't last. Stepping into the living room, Harry's grin soon turned into a look of absolute horror. Of all the people they could have sent!

"Well here he is," Vernon snarled. "Now lets make this quick."

"My thoughts exactly," Severus Snape responded with a sneer.


End file.
